There Is Nothing After This
by Hadij Drake
Summary: Joel and Ellie didn't expect life to be easy after their journey, but after they run across a medley group of other survivors with a grudge, life at the dam will never be the same. Just another reminder that it didn't end with the Fireflies, if you were willing to forget the fact that there are so many other dangers in this trying world. Don't read expecting sunshine and daisies.
1. 1 - Tara

_Trying to write again. It's been a long time, but The Last of Us makes me feel like I actually have a worthwhile story to tell. Can't promise anything regarding how long this will be, but I do have big plans (God knows those haven't turned out well in the past). Some original characters, lots of the characters in the actual TLOU universe though, as you'll see in this chapter. This will serve as a sort of prelude, followed shortly thereafter by dropping back a couple weeks - you know, where the story really begins._

_A DISCLAIMER: The main character in this story (that isn't Joel or Ellie) isn't necessarily likable. Granted, several characters in TLOU had their rough patches, but this character will probably make several of you uncomfortable, maybe even sick. The apocalypse isn't kind. That's a fact._

_Anyways, much love to all of you. The biggest thing for me is that you guys read and enjoy it. Don't feel like you have to review if you do happen to enjoy it, but if you have a criticism please do mention it via either review or PM - I'm always looking to improve my writing style. If you want to beta read for me, that'd be cool too._

_That's all from me. Deuces._

* * *

**Tara**

James is going to die soon.

Two men are sitting back to back in wooden chairs. Frayed rope the color of ash is wrapped around their chests and shins, five times and eight times respectively, binding them together like a pair of trussed animals. Each is wearing a makeshift blindfold – or more accurately, each has a tattered graying shirt that's been twisted and tied in order to mostly obscure their view. It doesn't really matter. They'll be able to tell who she is right away once they hear her voice. But there's a sort of disassociation experienced when one can't look another in the eyes, as though looking at someone while they're wearing a mask. A little ironic, when you consider the eyes are the only part you see through most masks.

It makes what's about to happen next that much easier.

The human body can lose roughly two liters of blood before fatality becomes a serious issue. With a liter, they are merely disoriented, though unconsciousness may occur in those not used to pain. One and a half liters will usually cause the subject to become confused, nauseous, afraid, and there's an increased risk of passing out...there's that word, _afraid_. It takes only a cut to make them afraid, if it's in the right place.

She plans to aim for one and a half liters initially, and then to increase it to two and a half liters shortly thereafter, once he finishes speaking. He'll probably tell her what she wants to hear, but he's going to die anyways. He'll deserve it. The other one...she has no problems letting him go once she gets what she needs. But that could take time. And if she doesn't get what she needs, he might have to die too. That would be a pity.

Tara is kneeling and staring at the features of the two unconscious men. They're slumped forward, only avoiding falling over due to being so tightly bound. Both are wearing flannel shirts and have short black hair. One has softer features and a mustache, whereas the other is more chiseled and has a full beard.

She stands up. They won't hear her pacing around, even when they awaken. She's wearing knee high black socks, and the basement is made almost entirely out of concrete. It's easy to be quiet in here. A single battery powered lamp has been fastened to the ceiling with duct tape and staples. It flickers every seven or eight seconds. The light casts her shadow into sharp relief on the floor and walls. It hovers directly over James and the other man like an ominous raincloud, and each flicker is silent lightning. In a way, it really is an omen. After all, James is going to die soon.

If not for these two men, she probably wouldn't have the cassette player. It's hanging from a belt loop on the end of a chain, a dirty pair of headphones trailing up to her smallish ear. Only one headphone works, and that's perfectly fine. She clipped the other one off. It lets her pay more attention to her surroundings. The battery in the cassette player hasn't died in the week she's had it. That strikes her as odd.

_Each night I'm scared I'll die in my sleep.  
Am I losing my mind or am I skipping beats?  
I'll mouth nothing to no-one then call myself stupid,  
it isn't helping anything but I won't hesitate to do it._

The person playing guitar probably has never played guitar before. There isn't a technique or method to the way he's playing. It's probably not even in tune. But his voice is so melancholy and vibrant with longing and hurt, so anguished, that the instrumentation barely even matters. On second thought, the music wouldn't be as good if he knew what he was doing. She pauses and stares down to read the title of the tape for the hundredth time in the last hour, smiling at the irony. The tape is white, and on it, scribbled sloppily with a black marker:

"Crywank – James is going to die soon."

A groggy mumble comes from in front of her and she looks up, raising an eyebrow. The bearded man is stirring slowly, but he doesn't seem to be actively attempting to escape. He's just feeling things out, trying to gauge the situation. Trying to keep quiet.

"Good morning, sunshine."

He twitches at that, his lip curling in derision. "You've gotta be shittin' me."

Tara beams, even though she knows he won't see it. "She really wasn't kidding, huh? Totally fearless. That, or you don't know enough to be scared...then again, you'd never admit the latter. That would be a fucking disappointment."

"Tara, I don't know why the hell you're doin' this, but you've got to hear me –"

"No," she interrupts, giving him a light slap to his grizzled cheek. It's almost playful. "I really don't. The truth is, there is no bigger picture or master plan here – just revenge. That, and I need a bit of info. Simple as."

"I ain't never wronged you. Christ, we took you in. Gave you a home. And with everything that's been goin' down, this is hardly the time or place for an ego trip."

Tara sighs and places a foot on his thigh, leaning in towards his face. Four inches away. Her medium length auburn hair dangles in front of one eye, and the other is alight with something dangerously inhuman. "You know, I was just two years old when the outbreak hit. But the next twenty one years are all that I really ever knew. When you're that young in an outbreak, you have to cope. You have to become dangerous early. You have to use your full arsenal. You can't be picky. You adapt or you die."

"It's not easy to start with people. You have to start small. But there's something about it that fucks you up...have you ever tried to strangle a kitten? There's a sick pleasure in it. Something about the struggle. The way they try and nip and scratch, squirm, flail around, and all they can do is make you bleed a little. You won't die from a couple kitten scratches on the back of your hand. But they can. You can make them disappear. You can literally end their existence just because you feel like it. It's...empowering, almost. Watching the tongue loll back and forth. Staring at them and realizing that they, too, understand...you control whether they live or die. I was seven years old."

His mouth is hanging open slightly. Tara feels it rising in her chest again, a deep purple, and the stars pop at the corners of her vision...she suppresses it, resists the urge to just hook a finger around the corner of his mouth and try to pull his jaw apart. She closes her eyes and refocuses, holding the image of James in her mind, thinking back on what he had done. The effect is sublime. Back to reality.

James is going to die soon.

"But after the life faded out of that first little body...you realize what a life is worth. You think on all those things that life could have been. Back in the dark recesses, you have that urge to do it again, but you let it out in other ways." There's a near inaudible hiss as she removes the kukri from its sheath. The eighteen inch blade is curved. Her father was in the Nepalese Army, and she'd inherited the knife from him. It wasn't rare, it wasn't particularly noteworthy...but it was all she had left of him, and she'd been using it for an agonizing sixteen years.

"It's amazing, really," she whispers. She's barely even talking to the man in front of her anymore, and she leans back, admiring the blade. "You wouldn't think something so easy could release so much stress, all without hurting anyone else...not until you've tried it for yourself. Have you ever cut, Joel?"

"Tara, I'm serious," he says, though there's less of an edge to his voice now. It's more apprehensive than anything. "Stop playin' around. Whatever you're feeling right now – I've been there. I've lost plenty in my life, and I don't doubt the world ain't through with wreckin' me yet...but this isn't about me. It's about the girls. Every minute you waste here is time we coulda spent tryin' to find them."

The thought of Regina is almost enough to make him agree with her, but then she remembers what James had done and the thought is submerged. She grits her teeth. So hard that her head throbs. The thirst is bubbling over the brim now. She needs to let it out, or she'll kill them both. That would be unfortunate.

"Then tell me what I need to know. If I feel like I can trust you not to kill me, I _might_ let you go. Emphasis on _might_. Don't get your hopes up."

"Better than where I was a minute ago," Joel growls. "Ask. Fast."

"I will," Tara says back, hefting the kukri. James is starting to stir. Now that she knows Joel is ready and willing, she doesn't have to worry about James nearly as much. He had been the backup plan. Now he's expendable.

She swipes down, cutting a five inch gash diagonally across his upper arm. Blood is flung against the wall adjacent like an inkblot. The skin begins to bud, a flower in spring, peeling open and letting loose its scarlet seed, spilling out like an overflowing cup, dripping down onto the rope and staining it violently. It takes James a second to register the pain. His jaw drops as he fully awakens, and then his body starts to shake. He's like a volcano about to erupt.

And then he starts to scream.

James truly is going to die soon.

"Where are the girls being taken?" she asks, ignoring the high pitched shrieks of pain, casting him aside. This is what the blindfolds are good for. Disassociation. She doesn't feel guilt, but they help her to manage the hate, to have a little bit of restraint.

Joel's jaw hardens. "You said you'd consider lettin' us go."

"I said I _might_ let _you_ go. Emphasis on _might_." The screams are seeping into her brain. The thrill is indescribable. "If it makes you feel any better, I considered letting James go too. But the thought didn't last very long. If you were in my position, you would understand."

"He was a good man."

"Don't lie to me. He was your acquaintance. You don't know what he really was. You would kill a hundred _acquaintances_ for Ellie, wouldn't you?"

Joel's face is cold. He doesn't hesitate. "A thousand."

Tara doesn't doubt it. She's suddenly very glad that she can't see his eyes, and that he can't see her shiver. "Now, we were _trying_ to discuss something with each other...coming to some sort of agreement for mutual benefit, yeah? Tell me..." The screams are too much. She has to let loose. Tara whirls around, embedding the kukri in James' calf, so far that she feels it bite into the bone. The screams are even shriller now. It's invigorating. A sweet release.

Tara wants to smile.

She wants to break down.

She wants to grab a handful of Joel's shirt and just scream into it.

She wants to become a bruise in the ground.

James is dying. There's no reason to keep saying soon. She yanks the kukri out and the blood starts to pool at the ground. It's soaking through her socks. It's going to be a very long death. The screams die down and he slumps, breathing heavily, more of a whimper than a pant.

She lifts the blindfold and stares into Joel's eyes. It's over, she knows it now. She's either going to kill him or take him with her. She can't leave him now that she's broken that wall. It's all or nothing. And now that she's sealed James' fate, she's got the feeling it'll be the latter...if he's willing.

Tara licks her lips and lets out a slow breath, closing her eyes. When they open, she feels nearly human again. She's calm as she says that last word, locking eyes once more with Joel.

"Where?


	2. 2 - Ellie

**Ellie**

In two weeks, James is going to die...but she doesn't know that. She won't know that in two weeks, either. All she knows is the staircase that climbs upward, upward like an opaque marble vine, ascending into something both wonderful and horrible...

Ellie walks up the staircase slowly, her hand on the railing, neck craning to look at the brilliant white light from above. She needs to know where the light is coming from. It's so bright that she has to squint, and when she closes her eyes, pink and green stars pop behind the lids. All around her, there's nothing but black. She casts no shadow. All she knows is the darkness and the endless white staircase. Everything is cool to the touch, yet somehow it makes perfect sense that it would be.

Several steps ahead, Ellie hears a croak, and she hesitates, finger tracing the railing. She raises an eyebrow.

"Hey, miss."

The frog is sitting still in front of her, orange eyes shimmery, green skin slick from an unnatural humidity. She stares at it, totally silent. Something tugs at her spine – an overarching déjà vu.

"This here is the stairway to heaven," the frog says, voice deep and soothing. "You know that, dontcha?"

For what seems like an eternity, she's silent, trying to contemplate the meaning, or maybe place the peculiar feeling that she's seen this somewhere before, but static shoves the thought aside. She scoffs and continues onward. "Obnoxious little frog."

"Fine, why should I care. I warned you, though! Best watch your step...wouldn't want to crack the sky open. You're treading on some mighty thin ice."

She freezes as the voice transforms into Joel's, whirling. "Hey, wait a minute –"

And then the sky is cracked, and she's falling, falling through the air and into the clouds, each wet impact punctuated by a sharp breath and a shiver. She starts screaming obscenities, flailing around like a wild animal, when suddenly there's –

"And what happened next?"

Marlene is sitting behind a desk, wearing a pair of glasses. She's surrounded by plaques and paper reminders of her credibility and general aptitude, as if for some reason anyone in the office would have reason to doubt her. Ellie remembers seeing something like this in a movie once, one of the movies she'd seen at Tommy's in their short time at the dam. Maybe that's what the frog was from – some sort of movie.

Ellie is lying on a couch, the cushions ripped up but totally comfortable, a pair of bright orange goggles nestled in her auburn hair. She closes her eyes, trying to remember what she'd been thinking about. Why was it all so hazy?

"And then, the frog was all, like, 'you're on the stairway to heaven, you know that, right?'" She imitates the frog's rumble as she relays the message. "But I thought that was bullshit, because, well, if it was really going to heaven, there would have to be someone at the end to lock the shitheads out." She shifts on the couch, wrinkling up her nose at the thought of it.

"Don't get me wrong, I wasn't at the top, so I guess there could have been someone I just didn't see yet – but wouldn't there be other people going to heaven too? The staircase was pretty much empty. Not a soul in sight. Except...well, except for that fucking frog."

Marlene smiles, leaning forward and making a few notes on a clipboard, the scratch of her pen grating and almost mocking. "That's the whole point though, isn't it? The stairway doesn't end. No one ever really gets to heaven. Everyone's trying to make their way up, thinking there's got to be some light at the end of some imaginary tunnel...but we're all just going through the motions. Heaven is only a dream, an old story made up by the terrified and doubtful. The weak. It's an excuse."

Ellie frowns, opening her eyes and rolling over to look at Marlene's face – friendly as ever, just like she remembered it. "So, is that it? We're positive? After all the garbage we go through in life...we just disappear?"

Marlene sighs, and there's something almost wistful in her eyes. Something Ellie hasn't noticed before. "Ellie, you've known it all along. This life is the only one that counts, and that's why everyone tries so damn hard to avoid dying. If there was really heaven waiting for us, I'd have blasted out my brains a long, long time ago." It's an eerie statement, but for some reason, it feels natural. Ellie nods. Marlene continues, crossing her legs. "But we're always going to have something to struggle towards...whether that's someone we love, something we crave, or even just plain trying to stay alive because death makes us afraid. Don't get me wrong, there are still things worth fighting for – but there is _nothing_ after this."

Ellie closes her eyes.

A deer is pacing, notching deep indentations in the ground with its hooves. It suddenly freezes, then swivels its head, ears twitching curiously. A full set of oversized human teeth grin in her direction, gritting together like sandpaper.

And then, she's awake. Alive.

Ellie's fist is clenching the blanket hard enough to make her fingers cramp. She turns over in the bed, smashing her face into the pillow, letting it swallow her up, swallow her screams and frustration. Her eyes are bleeding salty tears into the pillowcase.

A light knock comes at her door and she ignores it. The hinges creak as it swings open slowly, deliberately. She swallows. Something heavy makes her bed shift, but she ignores that too.

"Ellie?" A gentle hand shakes her shoulder, trying to rouse her from sleep. "Breakfast is ready. Dexter made biscuits and gravy."

Her snort is muffled by the pillow. "Just a little longer."

"Come on kid, you're gonna wake up as a butterfly if you hide yourself under a blanket all day. Up and at em. You'll thank me later."

She can picture Joel's smile, and for some reason, it makes her sick. Ellie knows she should be comfortable sharing the dream with him, but she can't. Not right now.

Ellie rolls over and dangles her feet off the bed, pretending to rub sleep from her eyes. "Eh, I'm not all that hungry. Just...save a bit in the fridge for me."

Maybe he notices how red she is around the eyes, or maybe it's just second nature. Either way, Joel isn't buying it. She feels his arm around her in seconds and leans into it. It feels good to just have his warmth. It's warm under the covers too, but it's not the same.

"What is it?" he asks in a lower voice.

Ellie hesitates. Several moments pass while she just enjoys the feeling of security and...well, not exactly peace, but at the very least, safety. She bites her lip. "Just...just bad dreams. That's all." That, and it's the first time she's seen the deer in months. A shorter pause this time. "I never knew my dad, you know."

It doesn't matter. Joel was better than he could ever be, and she knew it.


End file.
